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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28743699">where everybody knows your name</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariuscourf/pseuds/mariuscourf'>mariuscourf</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Les Misérables - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, HAROLD THEY'RE LESBIANS, Rated E for later chapters, Rule 63, an infinite amount of banter, lesbian bar au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:55:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,916</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28743699</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariuscourf/pseuds/mariuscourf</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>aka the one where grantaire runs a lesbian bar, and enjolras makes it her mission to save said lesbian bar from closing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. so bright your heart just stops</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Entire fic has been written, just editing and posting now!<br/>A note on language: I say the word "dyke" a lot as I, a real life lesbian, use it a lot in my everyday life. If you're not used to seeing it be thrown around casually it can be pretty jarring, so here's your warning!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Nine in the morning on a Thursday seemed like a weird time for someone to try to come into the Corinth– <em> try </em> being the key word, because they didn’t open for two more hours. Grantaire was sitting on the bar, engrossed with  Netflix on her phone when she watched the hottest girl she had ever seen wrestle with the door.</p><p>Normally Grantaire would be content to let her struggle before giving up or noticing the HOURS sign, but it wasn’t every day that Grantaire had the chance to go face-to-face with a Greek goddess. “You okay, princess?” she shouted from her perch before realizing that the Diana outside probably couldn’t hear her.</p><p>“IS THIS A PUSH OR A PULL,” the girl outside shouted.</p><p>“It’s an IT’S LOCKED,” Grantaire replied, pausing her TV show and walking towards the door.</p><p>“You shouldn’t sit on the bar,” Greek goddess said once she walked inside.</p><p>“Are you the health inspector?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow. “Architect, who's about to tell me it’s not structurally sound? Or, god forbid, my mom, which– listen, I wouldn’t <em> not </em> be into that, but we should have a conversation first, babe.”</p><p>“I’m Enjolras,” the girl scowled. “I’m meeting Joly and Bossuet here.”</p><p>Ah yes, because why would Joly and Bossuet tell Grantaire they were meeting someone in the bar before it opened for the day? Then again, they both had keys, and it wasn’t like Grantaire was usually here this early anyway, or awake this early for that matter.</p><p>“Ooh, am I allowed to ask why, or is this a top-secret kinda thing?” </p><p>Enjolras opened her mouth to respond, but Grantaire couldn’t help herself from adding, “oh, wait, it’s a top-secret <em> sex </em> thing, right? Sorry hon, I don’t think we can fit four people in a dyke bar bathroom stall.”</p><p>“That’s not– <em> four </em>?”</p><p>“Oh, am I not invited? Sorry, I just assumed.”</p><p>“I– you should really have a handicap-accessible bathroom,” Enjolras stammered. She was cute when she stammered.</p><p>“Don’t worry, we do, but have <em> you </em> tried having a foursome in really any sized bathroom stall? Trust me: it sounds like a fun time, but it’s not.” Grantaire knew she should stop trying to get a rise out of this mystery girl– yes, Enjolras had a name, but Grantaire still had no idea who she was– but it was just so <em> fun</em>.</p><p>“It’s not a top secret sex thing,” Enjolras said, disappointingly calm. “Joly and Bossuet said we could use this space for meetings, and I wanted to scope it out.”</p><p>“Meetings?”</p><p>Enjolras pulled a flyer out of her tote bag and shoved it into Grantaire’s hands.</p><p>“Christ, fire whoever chose this font.”</p><p>“We’re a <em> volunteer organization</em>.” Enjolras said.</p><p>“Then volunteer a better graphic designer, or– Bossuet, it’s already unlocked!” Grantaire called out towards the door. </p><p>“This early in the morning?” Joly squeaked from outside.</p><p>“Your friend is here.”</p><p>“Now who sounds like a mom,” Enjolras remarked, quietly enough that Grantaire wasn’t sure if it was meant for her or not.</p><p>After jingling the key for far longer than it should have taken to re-unlock the door, Joly and Bossuet stumbled inside.</p><p>“R! Enjolras! You’ve met!” Joly exclaimed. “R’s the manager here,” she explained, “so technically she also has to sign off on hosting meetings here, but we’re good to go next Monday if you are.”</p><p>“Neither of y’all work here anymore,” Grantaire said. Joly had, to put herself through med school. Bossuet had, until she broke too many glasses and even sweet Mabeuf, who usually put up with all kinds of bullshit from Grantaire and her friends, had to let Bossuet go.</p><p>“So?” Bossuet said, and Grantaire couldn’t argue with that.</p><p>Joly led Bossuet and Enjolras to a booth in a corner to go over more details, and Grantaire returned to her seat on top of the bar. It wasn’t like she had to go to Enjolras’s justice club meetings; Monday was the bar’s off day and Joly and Bossuet both knew how to lock up. She resumed Netflix-ing, trying not to pay attention to the girl in the corner.</p><p>But damn, Enjolras could make even going over logistics mesmerizing. Grantaire couldn’t bring herself to look away.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Saturday nights were by far the Corinth’s busiest, queers of all flavors from around the city crowding the dance floor. On Grantaire’s left, Bahorel was pouring a line of shots; on her right was Jehan, handing out cups of water as they mixed drinks.</p><p>Grantaire was supposed to be checking an ID, trying to math together if this girl who barely looked old enough to drive was actually 21, when time stopped. Grantaire thought she was above such clichés; later she would ask Bahorel why she paused the music, especially because <em> Kylie Minogue’s disco album is not one to be paused</em>, and Bahorel would have to break the news that Grantaire was just too busy staring at a girl to notice Kylie continuing to play. </p><p>The girl in question, of course, was Enjolras. Enjolras who, until yesterday, Grantaire had never seen set foot in the bar before. Enjolras who, since yesterday, Grantaire had not been able to stop thinking about.</p><p>“Can I get my ID back?” Baby-faced girl asked, drawing Grantaire out of her trance. </p><p>“Sure.” Grantaire hadn’t figured out the age from the ID yet, but now that Enjolras was in Grantaire’s eyesight? She had no hopes of math-ing anything out.</p><p>“Jack and coke?” she asked.</p><p>Grantaire was already halfway out from beside the bar. “They can help you,” she said, tossing her head vaguely in Jehan’s direction. “Diana.”</p><p>There were two girls next to Enjolras that Grantaire hadn’t yet noticed, and the shorter one burst out laughing at the nickname. Grantaire had seen her before– at the bar, maybe? Courfeyrac, Grantaire thought. “Love the nickname you gave our Lady Liberty here,” she said, dancing her way over to the bar. “Jehan!”</p><p>Yup, Grantaire had definitely seen her before.</p><p>“Combeferre,” the taller girl said, extending a hand.</p><p>“You went to med school with Joly,” Grantaire recognized.</p><p>Combeferre nodded. “Excuse me,” she wandered off.</p><p>“Lady Liberty, huh?” Grantaire grinned. Seeing Enjolras during daylight hours was one thing, but at night, in a crowded bar, looking completely out of her element, was something else entirely.</p><p>“Aren’t you supposed to be working right now?”</p><p>“You’re seeing my amazing customer service skills in action.”</p><p>“Do you have comment cards anywhere?” Enjolras asked.</p><p>“Yeah, but I’ll have to double-check to make sure they’re on recycled paper, so in the meantime, why don’t you just text me your complaints,” Grantaire leaned in, pulling a Sharpie out of her back pocket, and grabbing Enjolras’s wrist. “Here you go.”</p><p>“You can’t write your number on my arm.”</p><p>“Sorry babe, just did,” Grantaire winked. “So what can I do you for?”</p><p>Enjolras sighed. “Courfeyrac dragged me here.”</p><p>“Wow, being a pretty girl dragged to the only lesbian bar in the state, your life sounds so hard.”</p><p>“You don’t– wait, only one in the state?”</p><p>Grantaire laughed. “Babe, did you really think there were <em> more </em>? Come on, every gay girl living within two hours is here tonight, and it’s not because the vegan wings are any good. It’s because there is literally nowhere else to go.”</p><p>Enjolras frowned. “That can’t be true.”</p><p>“Oh trust me, they taste like rubbery cardboard and there’s no amount of hot sauce that can change that.”</p><p>“That’s–”</p><p>“<em> Enjolras </em>!” Courfeyrac ran back up, miraculously not spilling the three shots she was holding, with Combeferre trailing not too far behind. “Cheers.”</p><p>“Tequila?” Enjolras wrinkled her nose, and Grantaire just about died on the spot.</p><p>“L’chaim,” Combeferre grabbed a shot glass and tipped the drink back. “Forgot how much I didn’t like tequila.”</p><p>“Let’s dance!” Courfeyrac exclaimed.</p><p>“Catch ya later, Di.” Grantaire brushed Enjolras’s shoulder as she retreated back to the bar.</p><p>“You know Diana’s a Roman goddess, not a Greek one, right?” Enjolras shouted as Grantaire walked away.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Grantaire stumbled back into her apartment sometime around 3am– not drunk, just tired. Jehan and Bahorel had given her shit all night for being so spaced out after Enjolras had arrived and kicked her out from behind the bar after the third drink Grantaire messed up pouring. She spent the evening clearing glasses, wiping down tables, and dealing with the aftermath of some drunk girl barfing in the bathroom sink after one-too-many vegan wings. There had been a couple hooking up in the stall behind her too, which: kudos to them for not letting anything stop them, but also: really? Even after some drunk chick pukes all over the place? Grantaire was 90% sure Courfeyrac was involved, but never, <em> never </em> wanted confirmation.</p><p>“Late night?” Bossuet asked, snugged on the couch with Joly, old episodes of Jeopardy on in the background. They stopped by for a bit earlier, but Saturdays at the Corinth weren’t known for being the best place to hang out for those in committed relationships.</p><p>Grantaire kicked off her boots and sprawled out on the carpet. “How do you know Enjolras?”</p><p>“She went to college with Combeferre!” Joly said. “Moved here about a month ago.”</p><p>“There’s been a Greek goddess in our midst for a <em> month </em> and I just found out yesterday?”</p><p>“You’ve been busy!” Joly said, which wasn’t untrue; Grantaire did have a riveting schedule of sleeping in, signing for alcohol deliveries at the bar, and occasionally drawing comics to put online even if she was convinced that all her twitter followers were actually just Joly and Bossuet using burner accounts.</p><p>“There was a welcome-to-town brunch and everything, you missed out.” Bossuet added.</p><p>Grantaire stared up at the plastic glow-in-the-dark stars Joly had tacked up last month. “And y’all are in her social justice club, huh?”</p><p>“Workers rights org,” Bossuet corrected.</p><p>“You’re a worker, you should join!” Joly said.</p><p>Grantaire scoffed. “What is <em> wheel of fortune cookie</em>, Alex?”</p><p>“R, you’re a worker, you should join,” Bossuet echoed.</p><p>“I work in a bar and barely make minimum wage, I don’t think that counts. What is <em> a stage </em>?”</p><p>“Damn, you should be on Jeopardy!You should also make over minimum wage; you practically live at the Corinth.”</p><p>“Nah, y’all just need to up your game,” Grantaire said. “And like, Mabeuf can’t afford to pay more, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”</p><p>“You would get to see Enjolras again,” Bossuet said, and damn if that wasn’t the most convincing argument of all time.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>If anyone asked, Grantaire was only there to supervise as bar manager. As great as Joly and Bossuet were, enough had changed in the bar since they worked there that Grantaire wasn’t positive they could find snacks, should anyone want them. Not the vegan wings; after last night, Grantaire never wanted to serve a vegan wing again.</p><p>So, she put out pretzels. And gluten-free pretzels. And then peanuts, in case anyone just didn’t like peanuts. And then some mozzarella sticks, in case anyone didn’t like pretzels and was allergic to peanuts.</p><p>Jehan was the first to arrive, which wasn’t too surprising: Grantaire was pretty sure they dated Courfeyrac at one point so it makes sense they would join Courfeyrac’s friend’s thing. Bahorel was next, which maybe was.</p><p>The meeting itself was fairly boring and seemed to involve a lot of Enjolras quoting Supreme Court opinions while Grantaire poked at the gluten-free pretzel bowl, hanging onto every word, until she physically could not stop herself from shouting back. Because as mesmerizing as Enjolras was to watch, every word out of her gorgeous mouth made her sound like an idealistic women’s college freshman, and Grantaire had to say <em> something</em>. “Just because there’s ‘legal precedent’ to not be fired doesn’t mean employers are gonna follow it,” Grantaire said, air quotes and all, pretzel crumbs falling off the side of her face.</p><p>“Yes, which is why–”</p><p>“This quotes Webster’s dictionary like eight times,” Grantaire waved her phone around, Supreme Court opinion pulled up. So what if she was looking up court decisions just to have something to talk to Enjolras about? “There’s no way this is a real law.”</p><p>Enjolras ignored her, and went back to discussing ‘legal precedents’ or whatever. Grantaire went back to shoving gluten-free pretzels in her mouth and staring at Enjolras’s lips as she talked. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Everyone left pretty quickly after the official end of the meeting– Jehan to go to a poetry reading across town, Combeferre and Joly to dreaded night shifts in the hospital. Other excuses and goodbyes were said, and while the group of people that Enjolras had assembled seemed decently cool, Grantaire wasn’t going to complain about being left alone with Enjolras while she finished up work.</p><p>“So what’s your story?” Grantaire asked, watching as Enjolras typed up notes from the meeting, or maybe a letter to her senators or something, Grantaire wasn’t actually sure and didn’t feel like asking.</p><p>“My <em> story </em>?"</p><p>“Yeah, like who are you, what brings you into this fine establishment, how do you take your eggs…”</p><p>“I moved here a month ago,” Enjolras offered up. “I’m working at a nonprofit downtown that–”</p><p>“So you do this for work, too? You just live and breathe all this crap?”</p><p>“It’s not <em> crap</em>,” Enjolras protested. “And uh, you haven’t heard what the nonprofit does.”</p><p>“Enlighten me, please.”</p><p>“You have to keep in mind, I’m running a workers’ rights org, and I’m applying for other jobs.”</p><p>“Enjolras.”</p><p>“We, uh, rehabilitate and foster guinea pigs, and help people adopt.”</p><p>Grantaire had to sit down, she was laughing so hard. “So labor unions are just your <em> pet </em> project?”</p><p>“I don’t actually work with the guinea pigs; I just do the legal work,” Enjolras said. “A lot of people adopt because the animals are cute and tiny, and then don’t take care of them; it’s a worthy cause.” When she was in middle school, Grantaire had a pet rat that lived all of three days, but now most likely wasn’t the best time to share that particular story. “And, uh, most organizations don’t want to hire someone with an arrest record, which is another issue entirely, and one that we as a society should be talking about more, and–”</p><p>“Arrest record? That’s hot.” Grantaire had one too, actually: a few counts of public drunkenness from back in her heyday. One arrest for public urination, too– she wasn’t drunk then; she had just been walking by a Confederate monument and suddenly had to pee.</p><p>“Civil disobedience,” Enjolras said, proudly.</p><p>“Obviously.” </p><p>“I should get going.”</p><p>“Of course, you gotta get up early to save the guinea pigs,” Grantaire teased, and hey, fuck it: “Wanna hook up?”</p><p>Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Are you always this self destructive?”</p><p>“Um. Not all the time, but a good deal of it.”</p><p>Enjolras just shook her head. “Goodnight, Grantaire.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So many thanks for everyone who has read this– Daney, Quinn, CX; I am positive that there are people I'm forgetting. Jeopardy questions thanks to Mia– the corresponding answers are "game show based on hangman that's served as dessert at a chinese restaurant" and "the most famous speech in 'as you like it' says 'all the world's' this." General thanks to the <a href="https://discord.com/invite/vERrqvA">Hoes for Enjolras</a> on Discord for just existing– come join us!</p><p>Chapter title from Jenny by Sleater-Kinney. Supreme Court opinion from Bostock v Clayton County– yes, it really does quote Webster's dictionary. Everything that I know about running a bar from Cheers and The L Word. </p><p>Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated. x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. it was good while it was</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They fell into a Monday night routine, more or less. Everyone would filter out of the bar, leaving Grantaire to unpack every one of Enjolras’s impassioned speeches. “You cannot just argue for the abolition of cars.”</p>
<p>There was no reason for Enjolras to be hanging around, unless she was just super into the slow wifi at the Corinth. Maybe she liked snacking on the gross vegan wings. Still, she was there. “I told you, cities around the world have been built to scale for cars rather than humans, most streets are functionally unusable for people, they’re taking the urban landscape away from the people who should own it–”</p>
<p>“Yeah but like, how am I supposed to get to work?”</p>
<p>“You live around the corner.”</p>
<p>“Oh, you know where I live?”</p>
<p>Enjolras rolled her eyes. “Joly and Bossuet live there too, you know.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t. Thanks for clearing up the reason why the milk in the fridge has been slowly disappearing without me drinking it.”</p>
<p>“You’re welcome.”</p>
<p>They had been inching closer to each other– if anyone asked, it was because fighting with someone is easier when their face is only inches away; you don’t have to shout so loud. </p>
<p>“You’re ridiculous,” Grantaire said, and oh no, she was leaning in closer, and– her lips brushed against Enjolras’s.</p>
<p>“What are you doing,” Enjolras asked.</p>
<p>“Not thinking this through, clearly.”</p>
<p>“Do you need to get that?” Enjolras asked, looking at the flashing of Grantaire’s phone on the bar table.</p>
<p>“Of course not.”</p>
<p>“It’s your boss.”</p>
<p>“Are you reading my texts?”</p>
<p>“Your phone is face-up on the table,” Enjolras said, handing the phone to Grantaire. “This seems important.”</p>
<p>Grantaire glanced down. “Eh, none of this actually is.”</p>
<p>“So, 'sorry for the late notice, selling the bar, closing in two weeks' isn’t important?”</p>
<p>“We’re closing?” It was only a matter of time, really. Grantaire had been expecting this since she first walked into the Corinth, bright-eyed and new to the city, holding an obviously fake ID. It’s where she met Joly and Bossuet. It’s– it’s not her home away from home, because Joly’s and Bossuet’s guest bedroom isn’t actually that homey. The Corinth is her home.</p>
<p>But dyke bars never last, so.</p>
<p>“No, you’re not,” Enjolras proclaimed.</p>
<p>Grantaire groaned. “Is this your latest cause? Because lesbian bars close all the time; we’re like the lesbian characters of the bar and restaurant world– holy shit, the Corinth is the Jenny of bars.” Enjolras stared blankly. “Jenny Schecter? <em> The L Word</em>?”</p>
<p>“I don’t watch TV,” she said matter-of-factly.</p>
<p>“Of course you don’t, you’re too busy saving the guinea pigs.” Two minutes ago, Grantaire was finally kissing Enjolras, even if just barely. Now, she was out of a job and Enjolras hasn’t even seen the most transformative TV show of Grantaire’s life– okay, one of those things was a lot more devastating than the other, but if Grantaire thought about it too much she would start crying. She laid back on the bar– who cares if it wasn’t sanitary, it’s not like the bar would even be there in a week.</p>
<p>“I, err, quit my job,” Enjolras said.</p>
<p>“You <em> what</em>?”</p>
<p>“More accurately, I was fired.” Enjolras shrugged. “I may have yelled at Susan in HR.”</p>
<p>Grantaire laughed. “What did Susan in HR do?”</p>
<p>“She wasn’t registered to vote.”</p>
<p>“That’s definitely a 'yelling until you get fired' offense, for sure.”</p>
<p>“It’s a fundamentally flawed system, but you can’t <em> not vote– </em>”</p>
<p>“Not arguing with you, babe.” Grantaire said. “Just commiserating about joblessness–”</p>
<p>“The bar hasn’t closed yet,” Enjolras said, her tone becoming scary focused. “How long has it been here?”</p>
<p>“Uh. Fifty-ish years, I think? Mabeuf isn’t the first owner, but she’s been here forever.”</p>
<p>“Then we can register it as a historic site, fundraise to keep it open until then, fight against gentrification…”</p>
<p>“This isn’t your latest pet cause. I’m not some damsel in distress. Like, I’ll get another job, whatever.”</p>
<p>“Grantaire.” Enjolras stared. “Has it occurred to you that you’re not the only one that’s going to be affected by this?”</p>
<p>“Nah, I’m a pretty self-centered bitch.”</p>
<p>Enjolras sighed and started pacing. “You– you don’t even see how the Corinth closing, and a Starbucks or– god forbid– <em> condos </em> replacing it would wreck the community?”</p>
<p>“You just want a free place for your justice meetings.” Grantaire sat up.</p>
<p>Enjolras sighed, again. “I don’t know why you’re still here, if you don’t believe in the cause, or–”</p>
<p>“Uh, bar manager, remember?”</p>
<p>“Jehan and Bahorel work here.”</p>
<p>“Just because I don’t want you fighting this doesn’t mean I don’t believe in the ‘cause', you know.” She didn’t. The air quotes didn’t help her case.</p>
<p>“You don’t.”</p>
<p>“Objection,” Grantaire smirked. “Irrelevant. I’m just saying, the logical leap from not wanting your pity-help on the Corinth from me not believing in shit? It’s a bit of a stretch.”</p>
<p>“Oh, so you’re critiquing my logical arguments now?”</p>
<p>“I can critique everything about you, Enjolras.” Grantaire sat up.</p>
<p>Enjolras was staring at her so intensely, Grantaire was probably going to have scorch marks on her skull tomorrow.</p>
<p>“You’re unnecessarily idealistic, entirely too naïve if you think any of this matters, your hair is too perfect, you got fired from <em> saving guinea pigs</em>, you–” Grantaire started to list, and before she knew it, Enjolras’s lips were crashing into hers.</p>
<p>“What are <em> you </em> doing,” Grantaire asked, an echo of Diana herself.</p>
<p>“Shut up.”</p>
<p>Grantaire pressed her mouth into Enjolras’s again, breathing her in, her tongue tracing the edges of Grantaire’s lips before venturing inside. Holy shit, was Grantaire dead? She <em>had</em> been watching The Good Place earlier, and kissing Enjolras was an accurate description of a heaven where, if she thought too much about it, is actually just hell, because– it <em>had</em> to stop soon, Grantaire had been coming onto Enjolras for months and this was most likely just an argument tactic to get Grantaire to agree with her– an effective one for that matter, was it something she learned for her fancy law degree? Maybe Grantaire should’ve gone to law school.</p>
<p>Grantaire widened her seat on the bar, leaving room for Enjolras’s waist to take the place between her knees, Enjolras’s mouth never leaving her own. She kissed like she argued, all impassioned and angry, and fuck if Grantaire didn’t know how clichéd that was, but it was the truth, and her mind was too melted to think in non-clichés. A moan escaped from the back of Enjolras’s throat as Grantaire sucked Enjolras’s lower lip into her mouth, reaching out to grasp at the lapel of Enjolras’s denim jacket. “Off.”</p>
<p>Enjolras shrugged it and moved her hands from Grantaire’s hair to unbutton her flannel– fuck, why was she wearing so many layers?</p>
<p>“You’re bossy,” Enjolras said into Grantaire’s mouth as she slipped her shirt off. Grantaire wouldn’t call herself bossy, just eager and thirstier than she had been in her life. Enjolras moved her lips off of Grantaire for a second to pull her tank top over her head, and holy shit. This had to be a dream, because there is no way Enjolras would really be standing topless in front of Grantaire, her small perfect tits pointed upward and practically begging for Grantaire’s touch. Grantaire palmed them, taking pleasure in the way Enjolras’s nipples hardened under Grantaire’s touch.</p>
<p>Enjolras tugged at the hem of Grantaire’s t-shirt, and Grantaire, well– Grantaire was no Greek goddess, unless there was a lesser one known for being surly, pessimistic, and a lot softer than a marble statue would suggest. Still, Grantaire lifted her arms up so Enjolras could take off the shirt, revealing the oldest, most threadbare sports bra that Grantaire owned, and really? She couldn’t have put on something else that morning? Not that Enjolras seemed to mind, her lips forging a path down Grantaire’s neck, hands exploring her sides, a gust of cool air sweeping in and tangling Enjolras’s hair to the side, and– wait, that wasn’t supposed to happen. Enjolras jumped back, crossing her arms over her chest, and all Grantaire could do was laugh as she looked at the door to see Jehan, with their jaw dropped open, and Bahorel, who was trying very hard not to laugh.</p>
<p>“You owe me ten bucks,” Bahorel said to Jehan, who was still stunned speechless.</p>
<p>Grantaire handed Enjolras a shirt– the closest one in arm’s distance, probably her own but she wasn’t coherent enough to fully register anything, and Enjolras turned away from everyone to slip it on.</p>
<p>Oh, that was definitely Grantaire’s, and now she had to deal with the sight of Enjolras’s nipples poking through her paint-splattered, bleach-stained high school drama club shirt– it was a dark time in her life, okay– with Jehan and Bahorel right there.</p>
<p>“Is this– how long– <em> what</em>?” Jehan stuttered.</p>
<p>“Why are you here?” Grantaire asked.</p>
<p>“I am an agent of chaos,” Bahorel said.</p>
<p>“An agent of chaos who forgot her phone charger,” Jehan added.</p>
<p>Bahorel shrugged. “So. Spill.”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing to spill,” Enjolras said, cooly. “Nothing happened.” The ease at which Enjolras was stating nothingness like it was a fact put Grantaire on edge.</p>
<p>“I don’t kiss and tell,” Grantaire lied.</p>
<p>“I’ve seen your number on two different bathroom stalls, in your own handwriting,” Jehan pointed out.</p>
<p>“Okay, clearly <em> something </em> happened,” Bahorel said, grabbing her phone charger from behind the bar.</p>
<p>“We’re, uh, late to a thing,” Jehan said.</p>
<p>“What thing?” Bahorel asked. Jehan elbowed her. “Oh yeah, <em> that </em> thing. Have fun sorting this out, you crazy kids.” She was laughing the entire way out of the bar.</p>
<p>“Like, should we talk about that, or…” Grantaire looked up at Enjolras, who was changing out of Grantaire’s old t-shirt and back into her thousands of layers.</p>
<p>“I should go,” Enjolras said, hastily shoving the rest of her things into her bag.</p>
<p>No goodbye, no nothing, just leaving Grantaire sitting on the bar in her worst sports bra, wondering what the hell just happened.</p>
<p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p>Tuesday afternoon, Joly and Bossuet woke Grantaire up with breakfast in bed, or at least a cup of objectively bad black coffee that had leftover coffee grounds floating around like some shitty caffeinated soup– Grantaire was the only one who knew how to use the machine. Joly was more about quantity of caffeine than quality, and Bossuet stuck to tea, which pained Grantaire to no end.</p>
<p>“What do y’all want,” Grantaire grabbed the mug and downed half in one gulp, because she didn’t get through art school by only drinking potable drinks.</p>
<p>“Someone had an interesting night!” Joly poked Grantaire’s cheek.</p>
<p>“Mazel tov, you’ve only been pining for months,” Bossuet said, sitting down on the bed.</p>
<p>Grantaire drank the last of the coffee, handed the cup to Bossuet, and pulled a pillow over her face so she could scream. “I don’t want to talk about it.”</p>
<p>“Feuilly can cover your shift tonight,” Bossuet said, sending off a text.</p>
<p>“Feuilly doesn’t work at the Corinth.”</p>
<p>“They have bar experience,” Joly said. “And Bahorel will be there.”</p>
<p>“How do y’all still know the staffing schedule of a place you <em> no longer work at</em>?”</p>
<p>“Grantaire. Babe. You make the schedule, and it is literally hung up on our fridge,” Joly explained. “And like, please get your ass out of bed so you can see the magnetic poetry holding it up, because it’s fantastic.”</p>
<p>So Grantaire spent the rest of the day in bed, fingers hovering over Enjolras’s contact on her phone.</p>
<p>Lots of people marry the girl who only kisses them to win an argument, right? Lots of people go on to have mind-blowing sex after they’re interrupted by Bahorel and Jehan– okay probably not, because as far as Grantaire knew, Bahorel and Jehan didn’t make a habit of barging into people’s hookups like some pair of weird pro-abstinence supervillain team, but still.</p>
<p>She hid under a pile of blankets and tried to watch Cheers, but a show about a sober bartender being into a mouthy blonde hit way too close to home. Enjolras had ruined the Corinth for her– well, the systematic closures of lesbian bars had ruined the Corinth, but Enjolras was there when Grantaire found out it was closing. And now Enjolras was ruining TV for her. Was <em> anything </em> sacred? Well, Joly’s punny magnetic fridge poetry; even Enjolras couldn’t wreck fridge poetry.</p>
<p>Reheat a frozen pizza. Nap. Vape some CBD, which even Grantaire admitted was a gross hipster-y thing to do, but she was a gross hipster with lots of Enjolras-induced anxiety. By midnight, she could almost think about things that were not the feeling of Enjolras lips on hers, Enjolras’s tits filling her hands, Enjolras moaning into her mouth…</p>
<p>Fuck.</p>
<p>Her favorite vibrator wasn’t even in her bedside drawer, it was just laying on top of her nightstand next to the mugs from earlier that day. Had anyone actually died from not getting off? Because if Grantaire was kept spending time around Enjolras, she was pretty sure that would be her fate.</p>
<p>She fell asleep with the vibrator in her hands.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's not too much to start a chapter with an almost-sex scene, because this is a fanfiction. Or so I tell myself. </p>
<p>In keeping with infinite amount of television references, <a href="https://www.teepublic.com/mug/10035743-alf-says-gay-rights">this</a> is the mug that Grantaire was drinking from.</p>
<p>Chapter title from Dyke Bars Never Last by Sapphic Lasers.</p>
<p>As always: join the <a href="https://discord.com/invite/vERrqvA">Hoes for Enjolras</a> if you want to yell at me in lesbian.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. gotta tend the earth if you want a rose</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wednesday, eight in the morning on the dot, someone knocked at the door outside Grantaire’s apartment. Joly and Bossuet were still asleep, so Grantaire figured she should see what was happening– did Mormon missionaries come this early? An alien disguised as a door-to-door encyclopedia salesman, who accidentally landed in the wrong decade– Grantaire had woken up in the middle of the night, unable to sleep, and was watching The X-Files again, wondering how she could get herself abducted. So she stumbled to the door in her pajama-clad, pre-coffee state.</p><p>“Two boxes of thin mints,” Grantaire said as she opened the door.</p><p>“That’s how you dress to greet a girl scout?”</p><p>Enjolras.</p><p>“How do you know my address?”</p><p>“Courfeyrac.”</p><p>“How does <em> Courfeyrac </em> know my address?”</p><p>Enjolras shrugged. “Can I come in?”</p><p>Joly and Bossuet’s couch seemed as good a place as any to have the, <em> what was that, why have you not texted, can we do it again– no? that was a joke, then. clearly. </em> conversation. “Sure. Fine. Whatever.”</p><p>Grantaire wandered into the kitchen to start the coffee pot. Enjolras dropped her backpack on the ground and pulled out an honest-to-goodness binder. By the time Grantaire had the coffee up and going, the kitchen table was covered in papers.</p><p>“Getting ready for the first day of sixth grade?” Grantaire asked. “Cramming for the SATs?” She picked one up: an application for the bar to become a registered historic site. “Well fuck, you did your research.”</p><p>Enjolras nodded. “First, we should find out <em> why </em> the Corinth is closing, and then we can go from there.”</p><p>“You’re really doing this.”</p><p>“Why would I not?” Enjolras asked, as if showing up at Grantaire’s apartment at eight in the morning with a plan to save the bar was the most natural thing in the world. Which, maybe for Enjolras, it was.</p><p>“Do you want a list? I can make a list.”</p><p>“The Corinth is an important place for our community, and there’s only fifteen lesbian bars left in the country at all, and the dwindling–”</p><p>“Dude. I haven’t even told Bahorel and Jehan that they’re both out of jobs.”</p><p>Enjolras raked a hand through her hair. “So we can talk to Mabeuf today, and then delegate–”</p><p>“How do you know my boss’s name?”</p><p>She shoved a printout at Grantaire. “It’s all public info. Liquor license.”</p><p>Damn, Enjolras <em> really </em> did her research.</p><p>“Do you want coffee? I need coffee.”</p><p>Enjolras nodded. “Black.” Of course. “Here’s a flow chart of different approaches we can take, depending on why– I mean, obviously it’s gentrification, but what specifically is pushing us out?”</p><p>Grantaire rolled her eyes. “Mabeuf’s old. She doesn’t need a reason.”</p><p>“Where does she live?”</p><p>“Oh, are you going to accost her at her home at eight in the morning as well?”</p><p>“You were awake,” Enjolras pointed out.</p><p>“Barely. Anyway, she lives two hours out of the city, I’m not driving two hours to harass an old lady with flow charts.”</p><p>“Oh, so what are your better plans for today?”</p><p>“Uh, <em> work </em>?”</p><p>“You’re not working until eight.”</p><p>“How–”</p><p>“Courfeyrac,” Enjolras said again, which in no way answered that question either.</p><p>“Let me put on clothes,” Grantaire sighed. Going on whatever crazy quest Enjolras had in mind was probably a better fate than sitting around the apartment daydreaming, anyway.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>Enjolras flipped through Grantaire’s CD binder, pulled off the car floor.</p><p>“Indigo Girls?” Grantaire cocked an eyebrow as Enjolras picked a disc.</p><p>“What about them?”</p><p>“Would’ve pegged you for more of a riot grrrl type, that’s all.”</p><p>“You would’ve <em> pegged </em> me?”</p><p>Grantaire turned up the volume, as if Amy Ray’s voice could cover up the fact that she was slowly turning red.</p><p>“Only if you’re into that,” she winked. <em> Nice. Cool. You go, Grantaire. </em></p><p>“I was thinking about fundraising ideas,” Enjolras said, changing the subject.</p><p>“Ooh, are we having a bake sale?”</p><p>“Courfeyrac thinks we should have a party– I mean, she <em> always </em> thinks we should have a party, but also specifically for this– charge cover, et cetera.”</p><p>“You told Courfeyrac?” Grantaire moved to the shoulder of the highway, put the car in park, and stared down Enjolras. “Not even Bahorel and Jehan know, and they <em> work </em> at the Corinth.”</p><p>“Courfeyrac wouldn’t tell anyone,” Enjolras said confidently. “She’s working on fundraiser ideas; Combeferre’s helping with research.”</p><p>“Oh, so there’s a whole team now?”</p><p>“There’s always been a whole team,” Enjolras said. “You just haven’t seemed interested in being a part of it.”</p><p>Grantaire rolled her eyes. “Not this again.”</p><p>“Are you going to get back on the road ?”</p><p>“Look who’s suddenly pro-car.”</p><p>Outside the car, rush-hour traffic was inching on by them, a few people looking to see who was stalled on the side of the highway. But inside the car, Enjolras and Grantaire were having another staring contest because of <em> course</em>, after all this happened every time she tried to talk to Enjolras, why did she either bother?</p><p>Grantaire fished her phone out of her pocket, and tossed it to Enjolras. “Call Bahorel and Jehan, and put it on speaker.” A few deep breaths, and she was back on the road with Enjolras holding the phone between them.</p><p>“Sup,” Bahorel answered on the first ring. “You’re up early.”</p><p>“The Corinth is closing in two weeks.” Grantaire didn’t have the energy to joke around.</p><p>“Yeah, Jehan told me.” Jesus Christ. “Gotta say, I’m hurt you told your girlfriend before us, but can’t say I didn’t see this coming.”</p><p>“Am <em> I </em> the girlfriend?” Enjolras asked.</p><p>“Sorry, is that not the right word? Bae. Main squeeze. Fuck rabbit.”</p><p>“Shut up, Bahorel,” Grantaire groaned. </p><p>“We’re going to see Mabeuf to find out why specifically the bar is closing now and how to stop it,” Enjolras interjected.</p><p>“Oh hey, fuck rabbit! Sup?” Enjolras ignored that, which: good for her, Grantaire could never. “A text wouldn’t do?”</p><p>“She has binders,” Grantaire said. “With <em> flow charts."</em></p><p>“A text wouldn’t do?” Bahorel repeated.</p><p>“It’s easier to make battle plans in person,” Enjolras said.</p><p>“Battle plans?” Grantaire asked.</p><p>“Have fun on your road trip to the mountains, I hear they’re romantic this time of year!” Bahorel managed to get in before Enjolras hung up.</p><p>“Still want to call Jehan?”</p><p>Grantaire shrugged. “Nah, they know they’re almost-unemployed now.” Which isn’t what the one WikiHow article on management skills Grantaire skimmed would recommend, but she couldn’t talk to another person who had seen her hook up with Enjolras with Enjolras <em> right there</em>. Never again.</p><p> </p><p>Once the traffic of the city thinned out, it was a pretty easy ride up to Mabeuf’s. Enjolras yammered on in the passenger’s seat the whole time, something about minimum wage and inflation, and then inflation and the price of a lap dance, and then rights for sex workers, and then…</p><p>Grantaire wished she wasn’t driving so she could see the fire in Enjolras’s eyes as she talked about injustices, even if all of her ideas about fixing things were naive and incomprehensible. It was funny– how Enjolras could talk <em> so much </em> but not about anything of actual importance– Monday. Specifically Monday. When was she going to bring up Monday?</p><p>The exit was coming up soon, probably. A quick glance to the right would confirm it, but a quick glance to the right would also mean seeing Enjolras, which might mean crashing the car because well, the sight of Enjolras.</p><p>“…and with the wait times to even get in to see a doctor…” Enjolras prattled on. Grantaire thought she might be in love– or at the very least, in desperate need of getting railed, preferably to death. But she had to focus on the road. Grantaire had to focus on the road, not the sound of Enjolras forgetting to breath because she was talking too fast about healthcare. Enjolras pausing to think every so often, and singing along to the Indigo Girls under her breath, which was so dorky in a way Grantaire didn’t know Enjolras was capable of being. Enjolras, a foot away from her, causing every atom of Grantaire’s being to vibrate.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>The meeting was a bust.</p><p>“Told you,” Grantaire said as she unlocked her beat-up Subaru.</p><p>“Doesn’t mean the Corinth is closing in two weeks,” Enjolras said.</p><p>“Were you in the same conversation I was?” Grantaire snorted. “It’s done..”</p><p>“Just because she already sold it–”</p><p>“You lost, okay? Sorry.”</p><p>Grantaire slumped into the driver’s seat, and for the first time, wished Enjolras wasn’t next to her. Because she knew better than to get her hopes up, but Enjolras’s fucking optimism and idealism were irritable, but they were impossible to not fall for. At least a little.</p><p>All she wanted was to crawl into bed, cue up Hulu. Fall asleep watching Designing Women, probably– no, she wouldn’t be able to watch Julia Sugarbaker go off on a classic Julia Sugarbaker rant without thinking of Enjolras; she would have to find something equally kitschy and ‘80s– not that it mattered, because Grantaire had to drive back into the city with Enjolras herself in tow. </p><p>The Indigo Girls CD started playing automatically as Grantaire started the car. She shut it off immediately.</p><p>“We haven’t lost yet,” Enjolras said.</p><p>“I don’t want to talk about it.”</p><p>They spent the rest of the ride in silence.</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>TO: GRANTAIRE</p><p>FROM: ENJOLRAS</p><p>SUBJECT: The Plan</p><p> </p><p>Grantaire,</p><p>Attached is documentation for the sale of the bar, along with the other properties owned by this group. A draft of next steps is included: Combeferre is in the process of setting up some meetings, and Courfeyrac is looking for alternative locations.</p><p>Best,</p><p>Enjolras</p><p> </p><p>TO: ENJOLRAS</p><p>FROM: GRANTAIRE</p><p>SUBJECT: Re: The Plan</p><p> </p><p>what part of “mabeuf sold the bar and it’s becoming some hipster french restaurant” do u not understand </p><p>is your plan to just chain yourself to a barstool– lemme know if u need help getting tied up there</p><p> </p><p>TO: GRANTAIRE</p><p>SUBJECT: Re: Re: The Plan</p><p> </p><p>Grantaire,</p><p>What part of the real estate listings Courfeyrac sent over do you not understand?</p><p>Sincerely,</p><p>Enjolras</p><p> </p><p>TO: ENJOLRAS</p><p>SUBJECT: uh u were cc-ed on that email too</p><p>u know as well as i do that she sent an OBITUARY is that a real estate listing now oooh are we renting out that dude’s corpse like in some weird spirit possession thing bc like i do not know how to do that but u go girl</p><p> </p><p>TO: GRANTAIRE</p><p>SUBJECT: Re: uh u were cc-ed on that email too</p><p>Grantaire,<br/>An obituary of a man who left a vacated restaurant three miles away from the Corinth.</p><p>Feuilly had a friend of a friend of a friend invited to the shiva, they went with Bahorel to scope everything out; the family is ready to sell so they can finally retire to Florida.</p><p>Regards,</p><p>Enjolras</p><p> </p><p>TO: ENJOLRAS</p><p>SUBJECT: Re: Re: uh u were cc-ed on that email too</p><ol>
<li>i cannot believe u had people go to <em>someone’s shiva</em> to find out about buying property for a dyke bar. that is the equivalent of picking a girl up at her mother’s funeral, which bahorel has also done so like yeah of course she was fine with this but come. on.</li>
<li>i cannot run a lesbian bar in what was once a kosher deli, i am sorry but the smell of pastrami just doesn’t vibe well w a bunch of drunk girls, gals, and nonbinary pals.</li>
</ol><p>2a. actually i cannot run a lesbian bar in general. this is something i have told u before. like, i am genuinely concerned that u are looking at me and seeing bar owner material.</p><ol>
<li>on second thought, i do believe 1.</li>
</ol><p> </p><p>TO: GRANTAIRE</p><p>SUBJECT: Have you heard of cleaning?</p><p>Grantaire,</p><p>It is entirely possible to get the smell of pastrami out of a building.</p><p>[LINK: all-natural air freshener, pinecone scent]</p><p>Warmly,</p><p>Enjolras</p><p> </p><p>TO: ENJOLRAS</p><p>SUBJECT: seriously quit it w the real estate</p><p>pls pls pls tell courfeyrac that we cannot put a bar in a for-sale pet crematorium she sent me another listing</p><p> </p><p>TO: GRANTAIRE:</p><p>SUBJECT: Re: seriously quit it w the real estate</p><p>Grantaire,</p><p>We can’t put a bar in a pet crematorium with that attitude.</p><p>Cheers,</p><p>Enjolras</p><p> </p><p>TO: ENJOLRAS</p><p>SUBJECT: Re: Re: seriously quit it w the real estate</p><p>literally why is this so important to u</p><p> </p><p>TO: GRANTAIRE:</p><p>SUBJECT: Really?</p><p>Grantaire,</p><p>Do you not want to save the bar?</p><p>We both know that every cause I jump on is equally important, and I would put my life on the line for what are most-likely too small scenarios. (See: my unsuccessful third-grade Meatless Mondays protest, which I maintain was a great idea.) Except no scenario is too small, not as long as people’s lives are affected.</p><p>Your life is affected. Not just you; every queer person around, minus cis men who have a shocking amount of their own bars, where they have made it abundantly clear that we are not welcome. Without space, our community loses power.</p><p>On a more selfish note, the Corinth was one of the first places I’ve been to in the city. Through countless Monday night meetings and weekend visits, I feel more at home there than I do in my own apartment.</p><p>Please consider the environment before printing this email,</p><p>Enjolras</p><p> </p><p>TO: ENJOLRAS</p><p>SUBJECT: Re: Really?</p><p>pls enlighten me on where the money to buy a new bar is coming from. i have asked this before. it bears repeating.</p><p>do u have some trust fund i don’t know about? do people just give u money for being pretty? did the guinea pigs just pay really, really well?</p><p> </p><p>TO: GRANTAIRE</p><p>SUBJECT: Re: Re: Really?</p><p>Grantaire,</p><p>You know how great severance packages from tiny animal nonprofits are.</p><p>Did you not read the grant applications Jehan sent in this morning? Your signature was on them.</p><p>Cordially,</p><p>Enjolras</p><p> </p><p>TO: ENJOLRAS</p><p>SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Really?</p><p>oh that’s what they were? i thought i was just signing my soul over to jehan </p><p>love how u think all these nonprofits are going to give us money to get girls drunk. like, curing cancer? nah. poverty? eh. but making sure these queers have a place to hang out, that’s important.</p><p> </p><p>TO: GRANTAIRE</p><p>SUBJECT: Re: Re: Re: Re: Really?</p><p>Grantaire,</p><p>There are rich people who will fund anything. Don’t overthink it. Take their money. </p><p>Yours,</p><p>Enjolras</p><p> </p><p>TO: ENJOLRAS</p><p>SUBJECT: redistributing the wealth</p><p>are they writing “dyke drama” off on their taxes</p><p> </p><p>TO: GRANTAIRE</p><p>SUBJECT: re: redistributing the wealth</p><p>Grantaire,</p><p>Why, are you annoyed you didn’t think of doing that sooner?</p><p>Take care,</p><p>Enjolras</p><p> </p><p>TO: ENJOLRAS</p><p>SUBJECT: Re: Re: redistributing the wealth</p><p>like only bc i have nothing else to do and need more dyke drama for my tax write offs.</p><p> </p><p>TO: GRANTAIRE</p><p>SUBJECT: CHECK YOUR EMAIL</p><p>Grantaire,</p><p>We have a meeting with the mayor tomorrow, 10am.</p><p>Combeferre forwarded you the confirmation.</p><p>See you tomorrow,</p><p>Enjolras</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Scavenger hunt time: there are no less than two hidden Frasier references in the email chain, and one reference to the sadly short-lived 10 Things I Hate About You tv show. Sorry, I've been watching too much television during quarantine and need an outlet!</p><p>Chapter title from Hammer and a Nail from the Indigo Girls.</p><p>Once again, join the <a href="https://discord.com/invite/vERrqvA">Hoes for Enjolras</a> on discord!</p><p>Also: y'all's kudos and comments keep me going. Thanks for reading! x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. come on let's turn this shit around</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Grantaire felt ridiculous dressed in the nicest outfit she could find: high-waisted pants and a green blazer borrowed from Joly. “It looks better on you anyway,” Joly said as she handed it over that morning.</p>
<p>“I don’t know, you’re pretty hot wearing just that blazer,” Bossuet had smirked, and now Grantaire was trying to not think very hard about where it had been, because Joly was right: it did suit her. Even if she had probably sweat straight through the armpits while sitting in the city hall parking lot, waiting for Enjolras to arrive. Because of course Enjolras was taking public transit, and of course public transit had delays.</p>
<p>Okay. Go in, let Enjolras convince the mayor that the city should declare a lesbian bar historic (ha), shake some hands probably, and then leave. Grantaire could do this. </p>
<p>A knock on her window: Enjolras had arrived, holding the godforsaken binder. Shit, Grantaire had to actually get out of the car and do things.</p>
<p>No <em> hi, </em> no <em> how are you, </em> no <em> roll back the front seat of your car and let me fuck you on it</em>. Just Enjolras standing there, looking at her phone. Looked at her phone. “Combeferre is reminding me of talking points and Courfeyrac says, um, <em> walk in there with the confidence of a million drag queens; you can do this babe; that was meant for Grantaire, because I know that you know that you’re a boss bitch</em>.” She glanced up. “Oh, are you nervous?”</p>
<p>“No fucking shit.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be.”</p>
<p>“You sound like my therapist,” Grantaire said. “Let’s do this, I guess?”</p>
<p>Grantaire hadn’t blacked out in years, but if you asked her to recall even a single detail from the parking lot to the meeting with Mayor Madeleine, she wouldn’t be able to say anything, save for maybe a vague comment about being so anxious she had to remind herself to breath. But sure enough, the mayor was shaking her hand, and then Enjolras’s hands, and saying congratulations, and <em> what </em>?</p>
<p>“Holy shit. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, we’re actually becoming a historic site, we actually did this,” Grantaire couldn’t stop talking as she walked from the mayor’s office to the elevator. “You did it, you did it, you did it.”</p>
<p>Enjolras looked smug. “I told you.”</p>
<p>The elevator dinged, and they stepped inside. “Show some excitement! You did it. You did it.”</p>
<p>“You also did it,” Enjolras pointed out.</p>
<p>The elevator door closed, and they were the only ones inside, and Grantaire was on an adrenaline high, and fuck it. “Enjolras?”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>Grantaire kissed her.</p>
<p>Enjolras gasped against Grantaire’s mouth, leaning into the kiss, kissing her <em> back</em>. There was no way this was real: the bar being declared a historic site and Enjolras kissing her back on the same day? Nope. Grantaire was sure she would wake up any minute.</p>
<p>“Making a habit of kissing girls in elevators?” Enjolras murmured against Grantaire’s mouth. Grantaire bit her lower lip, tongue easing inside.</p>
<p>Time stopped around Grantaire as Enjolras kissed her. As she kissed Enjolras. As they became a tangle of tongue and limbs and hands in each others hair, and–</p>
<p>The elevator doors opened, and the sound of someone clearing her throat pulled Enjolras and Grantaire apart.</p>
<p>“I could have you arrested on public indecency charges,” the woman said.</p>
<p>Enjolras giggled– honest to goodness <em> giggled</em>, like she had emotions other than “ready to start a revolution.” Grantaire grabbed her hand and ran out.</p>
<p>“That was the mayor’s wife,” Enjolras laughed. Of course she knew that. Of course she knew everything.</p>
<p>“What, is that fact in your binder?”</p>
<p>“Yes, it is.”</p>
<p>Grantaire pulled Enjolras outside. “My apartment’s a mile away, come on.”</p>
<p>“Your apartment’s a mile away and you <em> drove </em> here?”</p>
<p>Jesus fucking Christ. “Get in the car.”</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>Joly and Bossuet were gone, thankfully.</p>
<p>“You’re sure?” Grantaire asked Enjolras.</p>
<p>“I’m sure.”</p>
<p>“Like, are you sure-sure, because I’m <em> me</em>, and you’re <em> you</em>, and you don’t have to fuck me just because I played a minescule rule in saving a bar that you like or whatever–”</p>
<p>Enjolras cut her off with a kiss. “I’m sure.”</p>
<p>Grantaire melted against Enjolras’s touch as Enjolras backed her up to Joly and Bossuet’s couch. She was going to die. She was going to literally, physically die. Joly’s blazer was slipped off and Grantaire was going to have to thank Joly later, because <em> what a good luck blazer</em>.</p>
<p>“My bedroom’s thataway,” Grantaire said, gesturing her head towards the room. “Just because, like, as much as I love Joly and Bossuet’s couch, Joly would never be able to sit here again, also I truly don’t want to get interrupted again, so. Um.”</p>
<p>Enjolras pulled Grantaire off the couch, and Grantaire was seriously regretting mentioning her bedroom, because that was another few seconds that she was missing out on Enjolras on top of her.</p>
<p>But soon enough, she was lying face up on her (unmade) bed, Enjolras’s knees pinned on either side of her waist. And Grantaire was kissing Enjolras again. She could die kissing Enjolras, probably. Live kissing Enjolras. Exist in some weird comatose state kissing Enjolras, only if she was comatose Enjolras probably wouldn’t be kissing her, so.</p>
<p>Enjolras’s lips moved to the corner of Grantaire’s mouth, tracing a path down her neck.</p>
<p>“Hang on,” Grantaire said, reaching down and pulling her phone out of her back pocket, because ouch, it was digging into her ass. She flicked to her music library and put on the first playlist that popped up, praying it wasn’t something embarrassing– the mail song from Blues Clues, that Bossuet had added to Grantaire’s music library as a joke. The Xanadu soundtrack, which Grantaire had not as a joke, because it genuinely slapped, but not for this particular situation. Sleater-Kinney started playing– thank fuck– and she tossed her phone aside, throwing her arms around Enjolras’s back.</p>
<p>“Uh-uh,” Enjolras said, moving Grantaire’s hands over her head. “Shirt.”</p>
<p>Grantaire yanked the camisole over her head and threw it to the floor as Enjolras reached around to unhook her bra, throwing the black lace to the floor. “Your tits are perfect,” Enjolras said, moving her hands, to cup them. That’s it, Grantaire was definitely dreaming; her tits were literally different sizes, no one had actually commented on them before, and–</p>
<p>Enjolras was kissing them. Her tongue, swirling around Grantaire’s right nipple, and she was going to come right then and there if Enjolras kept going. </p>
<p>Enjolras kept going, working her way down, kissing the folds of Grantaire’s stomach, slipping her pants down, until she was face-to-face with her cunt, separated by just a thin piece of cotton.</p>
<p>She pressed her lips to the fabric. “You’re soaking.”</p>
<p>“I’m well aware,” Grantaire choked out. “Trust me. You know, if only there was something that someone could do about that situation?”</p>
<p>“I might be able to come up with something,” Enjolras said.</p>
<p>“You saved a bar today. You’re smart. I trust you– oh, <em> fuck</em>.” Enjolras had pressed the heel of her hand between Grantaire’s legs. “<em>Diana</em>.” She tugged Grantaire’s underwear down and brought her mouth to Grantaire’s inner thigh, and fuck, Grantaire could feel Enjolras’s breath echoing against her. And she knew Enjolras was mouthy, but hadn’t imagined she would be <em> this </em> kind of mouthy, sucking and swirling around her clit. Well Grantaire had imagined it, many many times; her vibrator battery could attest to that.</p>
<p>Enjolras’s fingers brushed Grantaire’s entrance, easing their way inside, curling up as Grantaire pushed her hips up, stroking with her fingers and her tongue until Grantaire was seeing stars explode behind her eyelids. Enjolras crawled back up and Grantaire pressed her lips against Enjolras’s, drinking her in.</p>
<p>“You’re wearing too many clothes,” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras hastily unbuttoned her blouse and shrugged it off, and– wow. “No bra?”</p>
<p>“Fuck the patriarchy.”</p>
<p>“I mean, fuck the patriarchy, but I like being able to walk up and down stairs,” Grantaire said, moving her hands hand up to Enjolras’s chest. “Fuck, Enjolras.” She leaned more into the kiss as Grantaire rolled her hands over Enjolras’s nipples. “You like having your tits played with, huh? Always wanted to fuck a bartender?”</p>
<p>“Bar owner, now.” Enjolras corrected.</p>
<p>“Semantics,” Grantaire said, moving a hand down to Enjolras’s waistband. “May I?”</p>
<p>“Do it,” Enjolras panted. Grantaire snaked a hand inside the fabric, circling Enjolras’s clit with her finger, not yet touching it directly. “Grantaire.”</p>
<p>“Yes?”</p>
<p>“Fucking– to the <em> left </em>–”</p>
<p>Grantaire hadn’t thought Enjolras capable of having to beg– that was more Grantaire’s domain, in all aspects of life. She slicked a finger down Enjolras’s cunt, dragging wetness back up to her clit and finally making contact. Grantaire hadn’t thought Enjolras capable of becoming undone, of falling apart in front of her own eyes, but Enjolras bit down into Grantaire’s shoulder as she came to muffle her scream, and it was the most beautiful thing Grantaire had seen with her own eyes. Fuck the Mona Lisa. Fuck <em> all </em> art. Fuck old sitcoms, this was the only thing Grantaire wanted to watch for the rest of her life. She continued, rubbing and pressing and circling until Enjolras was coming again and again and again, because what was the point of the eight thousand nerve endings on the tip of the clit if not multiple, <em> multiple </em> orgasms?</p>
<p>Eventually, Enjolras collapsed over Grantaire and rolled off to the side. Once she caught her breath, Grantaire turned sideways and extended an arm around her. “Run the bar with me. Damn, that was a bad segue. But run the bar with me.”</p>
<p>“I can’t affect change from the Corinth, Grantaire.”</p>
<p>Grantaire snorted. “Um, what have you been doing the past few months? Like I’m not going to tell you that you’ve been ‘affecting change’ or whatever it is you’re trying to do, but you could keep the space for meetings. And like, it’s better than unemployment, and <em> way </em> better than the guinea pigs–”</p>
<p>“That was a noble cause.”</p>
<p>“Okay but like, was it? And like, I’m incompetent at actually doing things, and you’re not, and fuck, we can just pretend I didn’t say this, okay? Go get a fancy law job with your fancy law degree.”</p>
<p>Enjolras sighed. “You’re not incompetent.”</p>
<p>“Well duh. I just made you come four times in a row.”</p>
<p>“I’ll do it,” Enjolras said.</p>
<p>“Damn, no pros/cons list? No binders? No spreadsheet of all possible outcomes?” Grantaire laughed.</p>
<p>“Don’t make me change my mind,” Enjolras smiled.</p>
<p>“No promises,” Grantaire said, resting her head on Enjolras’s shoulder.</p>
<p>Today definitely had to have been a dream– or maybe, for once in her life, things were just going her way.</p>
<p>“Going your way implies luck,” Enjolras muttered.</p>
<p>“Fuck, was I thinking aloud?”</p>
<p>Enjolras ran a hand through her hair. “Hey, you’re doing pretty well for yourself.”</p>
<p>“Yeah?”</p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p>And if Enjolras herself was saying it, who was Grantaire to argue? Maybe she was pretty cool and accomplished after all. Maybe she was about to run a bar with the girl of her dreams, and maybe she wouldn't fuck everything up.</p>
<p>Grantaire smiled.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A thousand thanks to: Mollie, for helping me figure out wording. The <a href="https://discord.com/invite/vERrqvA">Hoes for Enjolras</a> for cheering me on. Lesbians and sapphics everywhere, for existing. Writing this fic felt like a love letter to the queer community I'm so desperately missing right now.</p>
<p>For more info about the lack of lesbian bars and why we need them, check out the <a href="https://www.lesbianbarproject.com/">Lesbian Bar Project</a>!</p>
<p>Chapter title from Human Contact by Catey Shaw.</p>
<p>As always, thanks so much for reading. I love y'all! x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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